The Pearls that were his eyes
by Loethaelis
Summary: Detective AU. Officer Anderson is a professional. Blaine hates visiting detectives. What happens when a detective from New York arrives on a case? Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N Warnings: None at this point. Mentions of a serial killer, but they're cops. Future chapters will need warnings. Eventual Klaine. St. Berry. Also Anderberry siblings.)

November 19, 2012

Officer Anderson was a professional. Blaine hated visiting detectives. Once again these two sides were at war. Detectives were always so snooty, acting with an air of superiority that unnerved Blaine to his core. He was fully prepared to hate this one too. Some young buck from New York, thinking a serial killer was in Illinois.

"Oi!" Blaine was pulled out of his thoughts as his partner, Andrea, waved her hand in his face. "What's on your mind, Anderson?"

"I hate detectives."

"No you don't. You had several bad experiences, but that doesn't all detectives are like that." She rattled off the same speech she gave every time they had to work with a visiting liaison of some sort.

"For a cop, you sure know what to say." Sarcasm dripped from every word.

"Oh, they finally found your head. It was so far up there it had opened another dimension." Blaine resisted the urge to stick his tongue out.

"I'm going to need all the files you have, and a desk. Or a windowsill. Or an upside down garbage can." The detective was here and was a woman? Blaine swiveled around in his chair. Nope. Not a woman. A truly beautiful man. The snow was still fresh in his hair as he took off his coat, handing it to the secretary who scurried along beside him. In exchange she handed him a stack of files and turned away. Blaine took a moment to gather his lost look and exquisitely lean form.

"You're drooling." Andrea whispered before walking over to him. "Detective Hummel, I presume?"

"Kurt, if you don't mind." Kurt Hummel. There had been a boy at Dalton with the same name, a few years below him. They shook hands.

"Andrea Andreson. Not related." She gestured to Blaine who stood at her shoulder.

"I wouldn't assume so. He's Anderson, you're Andreson. Slight spelling can make all the difference." He pointed to their name badges. "Not secretly married either."

"Huh?" Andrea Laughed. Blaine was confused.

"No ring marks on him. You're married, He's not."

"Of course I'm not, I'm gay." Blaine wasn't entirely sure why he said that.

"Wouldn't have guessed." Kurt said honestly. "Is there somewhere I can sit?" He gestured with the stack of files he was holding.

"You can use my desk." Andrea supplied, moving her bag to the floor.

"Thank you." He sat down, obviously not used to cops being nice.

"Would you like coffee?" Blaine asked before he could stop himself. Kurt –No, Detective Hummel- Smiled.

"Sure. Station special is fine." Blaine walked off towards the break room, fully intent on bashing his against the wall.

"So… How's that not liking detectives thing going for you?" Andrea leaned against the wall.

"Shut up." Blaine said as he dug through the fridge for his hazelnut creamer, adding a generous amount to a mug before pouring the coffee.

"Ooh, he even gets creamer, you won't even share with me." She pouted. "Seriously though, he is pretty."

"Yeah, and probably been outside for hours looking at the scenes. Poor man needs a better drink than coffee." Blaine poured himself a cup before realizing what he'd just said. Andrea gave him a 'bitch, please' look, holding out a mug. "Not a word." He said pouring some creamer for her.

"Ok, Mr. I-hate-detectives. Let me know how that works out."

"Hummel might be alright. But still. Not. A. Word." Blaine walked back and set the coffee down next to Kurt before settling into his own desk directly across from the detective.

"My god!" Kurt exclaimed. "You actually use real creamer!"

"Only when Anderson shares." Andrea laughed.

"Thank you." Kurt made eye contact, Blaine looked away before he could be caught staring. "It's been forever since I've had real coffee. Or a desk" He took a deep draw from the cup. "It's really been a crap day, but it seems to be getting a bit better. Aside from the serial killer on the loose."

Blaine finally took a good look as Kurt absorbed himself into the files. It had to be the same Kurt Hummel. Same eyes and perfect lips, just grown up into a man.

"Profiling me already, Anderson?" Kurt didn't even look up.

"I'm a cop, it's what I do."

"Tell me then, what can you guess about me?"

"That you're from the Midwest. Ohio I'd guess. You were bullied in high school. So bad you transferred to a private school. You missed your friends though, so you transferred back after a year." Kurt still didn't look up.

"Ohio, Lima. Transferred to Dalton in Westerville. You were two year above me. Try again."

Andrea snorted into her coffee. "You went to high school together?"

"You of all people should know what a small world it is. 2008. University of Washington. Dr. Ryder's conference on Criminology. You did your dissertation on her."

Andrea looked thoughtful for a moment. "You were her assistant. How old are you?"

Kurt laughed. "26, for the record." He pulled another file from the pile, glancing to Blaine, who had stayed silent through the entire exchange.

"Your father raised you. Your mother died when you were 8 or 9. You dressed in layers as a form of protection. Now you do it for fashion, but it's all to keep someone from getting close enough to hurt you like that again."

Kurt seemed to ignore him in favor of something in the file. "This isn't right." He muttered. Blaine looked at him. "All the victims so far have been 34 to 39. This one's only 29. He pulled a large notebook from his satchel and flipped to a page. "It doesn't make sense. It's his signature, but out of the pattern."

"His signature is the bashed skull then?"

"And the missing genitals, yes."

"Eurg." Blaine grimaced.

"You haven't heard this before?"

"Wasn't my department." Blaine shrugged.

"Alright, so far it's been one victim about every 3 days. Always the same MO, Blunt force trauma to the head and the missing genitals. And, until this case, 34-39 years old. Though he does have similar features to 4 or 5 other victims." Kurt held up some head shots next to each other.

"How many have there been?" Blaine almost didn't want to know. Kurt looked to his watch.

"If another one doesn't show up today… 23."

"Looks like we'll be here a while then… Andrea, go home, Bill needs you. I'll tell Schuester we're staying late. Blaine opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of delivery menus, tossing them to Kurt. "Detectives choice." He said, and made for the chiefs office.

"How's that hating detectives thing working out for you?" Schuester looked up before Blaine had a chance to knock. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"It's going fine thank you. Just stopping to say we'll be here late. We need to catch this bastard."

"About that, Dr. Fabray might be able to offer some insight. You should see if she's still here." Schuester tossed him a file.

"NFL players and a dead hooker? Shouldn't this go to SVU?"

"Normally yes, but the MO is the same for your guy, just female." Blaine studied the file.

"I'll show it to Kurt."

"First name basis already?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "He asked to be called by his first name,"

"Ok." Schuester laughed. Apparently it was give Blaine a hard time day, and he missed the memo. At least Kurt- No detective Hummel- wasn't teasing him. Officer Anderson was a professional, dammit.

Chicago dawned dull and dark, not the Kurt or Blaine noticed, being tucked away in a windowless meeting room, hanging head shots and marking maps. It was only when Andrea arrived with croissants and fresh coffee they even looked up.

"Oh lordy." she sighed, taking in the sight of the two scruffy men. Kurt was cross legged on a table, passing things to Blaine, who hung them on the wall. Both blinked owlishly as she entered.

"Is it really 10 already?" Blaine stretched and yawned. Kurt uncrossed his legs and slid off the table, making room for Andrea to set the food down. Blaine dove immediately for the croissants. Kurt's stomach did that growl, letting him it had been far too long since he'd eaten.

Everyone looked to the door as someone hit the auto open. Kurt was astonished as Dr. Fabray wheeled herself into the room. He caught himself.

"Dr. Fabray, I presume?"

"Quinn, if you will. No one told you about the wheelchair?" She looked pointedly to Blaine.

"Didn't seem relevant" He shrugged and took another bite.

"Anyway.." she continued "I expected one of you last night, glad I didn't wait around, Blainey does tend to get pretty single minded about cases." She handed him a file from her lap. "Another one, I'm afraid."

"Thanks, and this one's not us." Kurt handed her the file from the night before. "And thank god too."

"Well, I'll be in my office if you need me." She turned to leave the room, Blaine hitting the button for her. "Make sure you get out at some point."

"Will do." Blaine saluted as she left. Kurt cocked an eyebrow. "What?" Blaine was already pouring himself some coffee.

"You've never been in the military, why are you saluting?"

Blaine shrugged. "I owe her a lot." Kurt studied him for a moment, but decided to let it go for now.

"You should go home and shower." Andrea patted Blaine on the shoulder. Milo and Fred probably miss you."

"Right" Blaine muttered, staring at a picture on the wall.

"Also, I know the detective type." She laid a garment bag on the table. "I'm assuming you were in such a hurry to get here, you only stuffed spare underwear into your bag before legging it to the airport." She gave him a look that said "Am i right?"

"How...?" Kurt looked from Andrea to Blaine then back to Andrea.

"Just go with it." Blaine responded.

"Some shirts and slacks that never quite fit Bill right. Should be fine though, little long in the arms." Kurt, for once, was at a loss for words.

"Thank you." An awkward silence followed. "I fully expected you guy to fight me tooth and nail. Everywhere that Smythe has been before me, they hate visiting detectives. Not that I can blame them."

"You're not Smythe." Andrea said simply and walked out of the room, leaving two thoroughly bewildered men in her wake.

"What just happened?" Kurt looked down at the garment bag.

"You're the detective." Blaine turned towards the door. "If you want to shower here, go ahead, otherwise I can let you use mine. My apartments not far."

Kurt considered this for a moment.

"You have actual towels then?"

"Actually, yes. Rachel, My sister gave me some as a housewarming gift." Blaine smiled at the memory of Rachel, still red in the face from helping move the couch, telling him not use them for Milo's bed and 'come home for the holidays, god dammit'

Kurt tried to picture what Rachel Anderson looked like. Going off Blaine, She's be short, probably a bit stocky. Lighter hair he imagined, lots of curl. Probably an artist of some sort, and freckles, she's have freckles.

"Let's go then." Kurt stood, collecting his things. Blaine led the way to his car in the parking garage.

"I didn't take you for a Prius man.

"There's a lot you don't take me for." they both paused.

"That sounded a lot better in your head, didn't it?"

"Yep." Blaine opened the driver's side door, motioning for Kurt to follow. "My sister would kill me if I drove my old car."

"Big brown Gas guzzler?" Kurt settled into the passenger seat, laying the garment bag carefully across his lap.

"Green, but yeah.'

"She have a name?" Kurt wore a small grin as Blaine responded.

"Evelyn." He glanced to Kurt before asking "Why is this relevant?"

"Just trying to figure you out."

"Not much to figure, really."

"then why can't I figure you out?"

"Dunno." He shifted into drive.

It was short with a companionable silence. Blaine led the way up to his apartment. He paused at the door. "I have a cat; you're not allergic, are you?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Kurt chuckled.

"He's not used to guests." Blaine unlocked the door and pushed it open. there was a light "Mao" followed by heavy bounding footsteps. Kurt laughed in surprise as Blaine fell over.

"Kurt, this is Milo." Blaine motioned to the 25 pound cat sitting on his chest.

"Pleasure" He bent to scratch Milo, who stopped face-butting Blaine long enough to eye him warily before accepting the scratch.

"Bathrooms that way." Blaine pointed down the hall. "Spare towels under the sink."

Kurt nodded and scooted past, down the hall. The first door he tried was a closet. He got the bathroom on the 2nd try.

It wasn't what he expected, though he couldn't say what he expected at all.

Blaine had obviously spent a good deal of money on his shower head. Kurt hadn't had a proper shower in weeks; he'd been chasing this bastard around New England for 2 months. At home he would have been much pickier about his products, but Blaine seemed to have decent taste.

"There's a spare razor in the cabinet." Blaine called from the kitchen.

"Thanks." Kurt responded. He reached in to turn the water on before undressing. It felt odd taking a proper shower while he was thins involved with a case. He tended to be very holmseian when it came to solving things. It felt good though. He found himself enjoying simply standing under the water, taking in the small details around him. The only thing that stood out to him, was the metal bar attached to the wall at eye level. On first thought, it was a towel rack, but who puts a towel rack IN the shower. He shrugged and chalked it up to a stoned engineer.

Then the thoughts struck. the ones he'd been avoiding since arriving at the station and seen Blaine Fucking Anderson. Sure, he was a few years older and they'd gone to the same high school. It didn't mean they knew each other. Knew of each other, yes.

Detective Hummel was a professional. And professionals didn't fancy other professionals.

Blaine was the golden boy of Dalton Academy, Poster child for everything. If you didn't fancy him, you fancied being him, which brings Kurt to his current problem, he was not the latter. Blaine Anderson was one of the most beautiful people he'd ever known, and that was saying something, cause he knew Rachel St. James, Broadway's premiere Diva, And Jesse st. James. He was nothing to scoff at. He'd been at Dalton as well, a year ahead of Blaine. And now he was having an existential crisis in the man's shower.

Detective Hummel was a professional.


	2. Chapter 2

Detective Hummel was a professional. Kurt was having an existential crisis in the shower. So what if it was Blaine's? Maybe he should get out a bit more.

This case had him running ragged around New England, and now Chicago. He could only hope they found this bastard soon. Enough people had died. Everyone back in New York was counting on him. He had to do this, not just because this killer was a sick fuck, but because he desperately wanted to have a normal relationship, and not be running off at all hours of the day. (The breaking point of his Last 2 relationships.) But he had to solve this case.

Kurt scrubbed a hand down his face under the water. If nothing else, at least the department here was nice to him. Everywhere else had given him a bit of the cold shoulder, especially if Smythe had been there before him.

He was so tired. He couldn't recall the last time he slept in a proper bed, or even a piece of furniture made for sleeping. With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, Kurt turned the water off and stepped out onto the mat. The air was warm, but he could feel the chill creeping up through the tiles, so he dressed quickly, pulling some slacks out of the garment bag Andrea had given him. They fit to a T, but the shirts were just a touch long in the arms, but with the cuffs buttoned, they weren't too bad. He left him towel in the hamper and wandered out to the living room, where Blaine was sprawled in the armchair, listening through voicemails. Kurt could hear an airy female, and vaguely familiar voice drifting out into the quiet room. He cleared his throat. Blaine tilted the mouthpiece away.

"Just a voicemail. Feel free to rummage the kitchen, if you're hungry." Kurt nodded and set his things neatly on the table, turning to the kitchen.

"Hey, Rach. Just returning your call. Thanksgiving is wide open for me; just give me a call when you land. Can't wait to see you!"

"Sister coming to visit?" Kurt asked, trying to make conversation as he put the kettle on to boil.

"Yeah, bringing her husband for thanksgiving. Can't complain really, I haven't seen her for 3 years. I couldn't even make her wedding. It was during the Duree trial." Kurt nodded sympathetically. "If you're making tea, put a mug down for me too, would you?"

"Sure." Kurt paused. He didn't even know where the mugs were. He got the right cupboard on his first try.

"I'll be out after a bit." Blaine moved towards what Kurt assumed to be his bedroom. Milo jumped up on the island counter where Kurt was standing.

"What do you want?" Kurt narrowed his eyes, staring at the cat. Milo merely meowed and rubbed his face against Kurt's arm. "I supposed I could pet you, but what's in it for me?" He scratched behind the cat's ears for a moment before Milo stood up on his hind legs and places his paws on Kurt's shoulders. It was oddly comforting to Kurt, who met Milo halfway for a nose bump. He was beautifully trim, black and white spats. The perfect tuxedo cat. Brilliant green eyes met hazel. Milo was not fat, nor was he fluffy. He was just big. Like Norwegian forest cat big. They face-bumped again and Milo took to licking Kurt's hair. "I guess you're alright, cat." Kurt set Milo gently back to the counter as the kettle came to a boil.

Tea was one of those things he never liked as a kid, or even a teenager, but when he found himself alone one Christmas after leaving Ohio, it turned into a wonderful comfort. Especially the earthier teas reminded him of home. He poured himself a cup, leaving the kettle on low so Blaine could pour it himself when he was done in the shower, and settled into the couch, allowing Milo to curl up next to him and grabbed his tablet from his bag.

The usual spam, an e-mail from Sue asking for a progress report, and half the cup of tea later, Kurt found himself humming drowsily and petting Milo, who purr just seemed to get deeper and more relaxing the longer he listened to it. With a yawn, Kurt decided that a catnap couldn't hurt, and he'd wake up when Blaine was out of the shower.

A sleeping Kurt Hummel was definitely a sight that Blaine wouldn't mind being used to, he thought as he poured his tea. The younger detective had fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for Blaine. He looked sweet, but there was a slight furrow to his brow, as if something were bothering him. Though it wasn't as if he wasn't chasing a serial killer halfway across the country or anything.

Blaine pulled the throw off the armchair and covered Kurt, figuring the man could use at least a couple hours to nap. Milo shot him a dirty look and repositioned himself on top of the blanket, which allowed Kurt to sink down and stretch his legs out along the couch.

It was early afternoon when Kurt woke up, and only because a buzzer had gone off. He looked around blearily, remembering where he was and then observed Blaine closing the door and turning around.

"You're awake. Good, I was hoping this wouldn't get cold. We've got to meet a couple witnesses in an hour, so eat up." Blaine threw the take out bags on the coffee table and continued buttoning his shirt.

"You're not wearing your uniform?" Kurt queried as he dug through the containers. They all smelled heavenly.

"Not when talking to witnesses, they tend to respond better to civilian clothes." He adjusted his collar in the mirror. Kurt settled on what he assumed to be a pad Thai. Whoever had made Blaine's suit seemed to be a god. The trousers were a perfect cut, hugging the trim waist and tapering down, accentuating the strong legs.

Kurt looked back to his food with a start. He did not need to be tempted to feel up Officer Anderson. Whatever the food was, it was better than anything he'd had before, either that or he was just starving.

Blaine sat down in his armchair and grabbed for a container of food. The silence was companionable. After Kurt had finished with his, he finished dressing, finding his vest and tie, and put his shoes on.

Blaine watched Kurt move and tried not to stare. He was long and lean in all the right places, the trousers Andrea had given him fit perfectly, and the shirt's extra length was hidden by the vest. Blaine turned his focus back to his food. They had witnesses to meet.

Blaine really needed to get out more.

(A/N. I will try and update every 2 weeks, but no guarantees. I'm in my final quarter for a degree and might fall behind. Thank you all for reading. Enjoy!)


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